"When are you getting off tonight, Sunshine?" It’s Friday, and she knows that I always work on Friday but it’s the mother in her that can’t stop from asking again. She has to know, absolutely has to know where all her kids are at all times. I've only been here for a month but she treats me like another son, another kid of her adopted fag family, but that’s Debbie as I've come to find out. I can't help but smile at her, standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, that wig tilted at an odd angle. She just got off a sixteen-hour shift at the diner and I know her feet are killing her, and her back too. Vic stands beside her, kind eyes twinkling at me like we're sharing some great and mysterious secret from her. I never knew my father, never talked to him, or touched him. I never knew if he liked sports or what books he had read or all the places he wanted to go. I never knew my stepfather either. I didn't harbor any illusions that Jack would be some great father, someone I could have gone to. He worked ten hour shifts at a local factory, went drinking with the boys at the legion hall far too many times, a true red-blooded, blue collar, drinking, swearing Irishman. He wasn't my father, and I knew it, and he sure as hell knew it. I was just some bastard kid his new wife came along with, part of the packaged deal.
But if I could choose, it would always be Vic. I scratch the bridge of my nose and side-glance at Deb.
"We're doing inventory tonight Deb, so probably late." It's a lie. I can't tell if she believes me or not because I'm busy with my bag, pretending that I'm actually going to go to work. My mind is working of it's own violation because I don't think I've ever lied at all until Jack Kinney came into my life. Another thing to blame on him isn't it? Soon, far too soon, anger is taking hold of me before I can think to stop it, and I know that my breath will be short if it isn’t already. I've been affected more than I'd like to think, more than I'll let myself think about. Creaking fills my ears, and heavy breaths and hard hands, calluses and blister and sweat and pain and shame, all bunched up nerves in the pit of my stomach. Vic is behind me before I realize it, stroking my back with just enough pressure to ground me, to bring me back.
"You okay, kiddo?" He whispers in my ear, hand coming up to stroke my head. Vic should've had kids. Should've had dozens of them. I nod, feel his grip on me relax and then like nothing's happened he's stepping away, leaning on the sofa.
"Justin, sweetie, I ... can ... maybe we can call a doctor, get you an appointment ... do something." Worry in her eyes, worry in Vic's eyes and then muted disappointment when I turn my head, shake it slightly. No doctor, no fucking shrinks, just not now, I can't take it guys, not now. Let me deal with this my way, I tell them with my avoidance.
I woke up screaming two nights ago. Deb was there, hovering, crying and it was the first time I ever saw the blonde beneath the redhead. I can't remember what I dreamed about, I don't want to, because surely if the subconscious decided to bury it, I probably don't want to find out.
"Well,” She sighs from her gut and I wince as I pull the strap over my head. "Why don't you call Vic and he can come pick you up tonight, this weather is awful and I'd hate for you to catch something ... from those people you work with." Debbie does her best to hide her grimace. Maybe the lie did work, or she's just being tactful. I look towards Vic. It'll be late and sorry, Vic, can't risk it. Our eyes glint in the low light of our home.
"Jesus, Deb, he's eighteen he can take care of myself. When I was that age I was out, hitting the clubs -” She cuts him a look and he promptly shuts up. He coughs and swear to God, I could kiss him on the spot. She looks between us.
"My cell number is on the fridge." She nods, like it's something she doesn't already know. Like she doesn't know that, or my mom's, or the real estate agency my mom works at. I bet she could even tell me my boss' home phone number if it came down to it.
"Sunshine,” I smile and look back, feel warmth in my chest that was never there, that might of never had been there, looking at my family. "Be fucking careful."
I stand on the sidewalk, watch the lights inside the small house just situated off Liberty Avenue and smile. Gather some nerve and I start to walk, don't think, just walk. I don't dare think a single fucking thought tonight, walk, and walk till I see neon beam me up.
The big doorman gives me a leer and I smile, assured in my skin, comfortable. He doesn't card just waves me in, watches my ass as I go through the doors and my eyes open for the first time in my life.
Babylon is everything that I've ever dreamed of, ever fucking wished for since thirteen years old, living in an oppressive, depressing shit hole. God, it's just so big, so open, so fucking proud. It's dirty and raw and freeing and I just want to submerge myself in it. There's a small crowd at the bar, but the masses are already pulling up outside, people coming in, filling this place up. The bartender appears before me and before I can even think to be smooth, be cool, try to think of a liquor, and only coming up with wine coolers my mother drinks in the summer and the whiskey that Jack would drink every night, he pours a glass for me, and I'm sure he can tell, fucking smell what a newbie I am. He leans over, pushes the glass filled with amber liquid toward me, nods toward the end of the bar. A man, attractive and can't be older than twenty-two, with a strong jaw line, and nice clothes, and interested or at least wants to get me drunk, and hey, that's all right by me.
I finger the glass for a second, look at the bartender still lingering in front of me, a perfect eyebrow arched at me. I smirk, something I definitely learned from my stepfather, and slowly lift the glass, swallow, feel it slide all the way down. Meet surprised eyes at my stoic reaction. I lived with Jack asshole, I want to say, want to scream, I can fucking take it. I push the shot glass forward, bartender looks toward the other man, receives approval, and another drink is offered up to me. This time I don't even feel the liquor go down.
I don't know how many I've had but the glass never goes empty and I'm starting to wonder how the bartender can just stay in front of me all night, just filling up my glass. Aren't other people thirsty? I swallow from that which never goes dry, reminding me of a poem I read once and I picture the glass before me as the cup of Christ, never running dry, always making me young and beautiful and my memory unclear.
"You must be new. Haven't seen you around before." Man from the end of bar has decided that I'm sloshed enough to approach. Sometimes I just have that look, or so I've been told, that coldness, that 'fuck off' vibe. I briefly smirk and drink again, feel his hand on my thigh and find out that with enough alcohol it doesn't bother me like it does when I'm sober.
"Haven't been around before." I'm really sure I'm at least not sober now, and God, I'm such a fucking lightweight. I can't feel the inside of my mouth, all dry and empty. I keep licking my lips, making the man come closer to me.
"What's your name?" He's whispering in my ear, hot breath tinged with the stark smell of liquor. His hands are roaming, around my back, the junction of my spread thighs, arms and hands, and neck and hair.
"Justin." I whisper, eyes lowered to his mouth. Beautiful and God, I've never even kissed a man before. Never. Images flash behind closed eyes, images I'm going to keep drinking to forget. I lift the glass and barely catch his "Jared" in reply.
His mouth is on me before I even swallow the liquor, tongue angry and probing to seek entrance to my mouth, wanting, needing, and God I open up. He's pulling me closer to him and I feel like everything is going much too slow, with eyes closed and hands buried in soft hair. Lips are bit, tongues are sucked, hands pinching and probing, and grabbing and stroking and it's never felt so good before.
My brain finally decides that oxygen would be so nice right now, and I break away from him, his growling echoing in my ears. His mouth moves to my neck, sucking, sucking, and biting enough to make me groan and wince. I feel my blood come to the surface, and feel the indent of sharp teeth in my flesh, kind of and maybe not wondering how to explain this to Deb. I push closer and don't even realize it until I feel his hands on my ass, feel my feet on the floor.
"You like K?" If I could make my eyes go wider, they would, and all I can manage is a sort of no. He smiles and holds up a small tube, so small like something that little could never have such a scary, scary effect. A guy from work told me the horror story that associates itself with all club drugs. Drugs bad. Drugs very bad. I can't help but let the guy serve it to me on his wrist, can't help but take it into myself, wonder if it'll kill me and hey, wasn't I just happy go lucky semi-sort of drunk a second ago?
It doesn't kick in the way liquor does. It takes it time to travel around my body, fly through veins and I imagine it's sort of a soft glow starting inside of me right now. All light and beauty and whoever said that drugs were bad when they fucking light you up on the inside? Maybe it's fifteen minutes or 360 but the colors, the lights inside are exploding now and even his grin against my cheek feels so much more real, so much more. I feel more than my body ever wanted me to, and follow my spine to a slow arch when his hand adds slightly more/slightly less pressure to my dick.
"Wanna go to the backroom?" Whips and chains and black leather, and yeah I've only been living with Deb a month, and hanging out at the diner for going on two now but I know what the backroom is. Know enough about it to make me hesitate before I nod my head. He smiles again, all teeth and wolves and it makes me want to shiver but I've never felt so fucking hot in my entire life. He pulls me in front of him, and the room spins with me for a second, colors blurring into a huge rainbow in my line of vision. My feet are moving without me even telling them to, and maybe they've always done it or maybe they actually are entities free of me and have coherent thought of their own.
Or maybe I'm just really fucked up.
My mouth is dry again and I lick my lips and don't smile. I feel a hand down my pants and we stop midway to where the moaning, hi-fi and stereo surround sound is coming from. I don't feel my heart beating as much as I hear it in my ears, and maybe it's the music but fuck, it sounds like a fucking heart attack and wow, now I can't really breathe. I'm panicking but the guy, Jared doesn't know, he's behind me, rubbing himself up and over and wow, now I feel sick. Take it like a man, take it, little faggot and I wonder how come I'm the faggot when it's your dick down my throat but I can't speak, can't breathe, can't cry out because mouth's full of step-dad's dick. My eyes are rolling up in my head and I kind of let him move me, control me until I calm myself and no the ceiling doesn't look like it's melting and no the guy over there doesn't look like the devil but if he touches me I'm seriously going to hurl and when the guy ... Jared ... not step-dad, not Irish, and no it's okay now ... remembers the backroom, we start walking again.
It's a labyrinth in here, like a fucking sewer full of men fucking, up and down and over and around and I laugh because it's a rhyme that seems funny to me right now. I’m pushed up against a wall and I hope that they all managed to shoot their load towards the bottom cause leaning up against days-weeks-months old cum is pretty gross. I'm still thinking about that when a strong hand grips my jaw and works it so that he can take over my mouth again, hot and so fucking angry, the both of us. So mad and so ready to just explode from the drugs, or the liquor, or just the past. Now I know why sex is 'why sex is' with Brian. He's busy getting something from his pocket and wow, it's another drug and for a second I hoped/dreaded that it would be a condom and I'd have to bend over and take it, take it, little faggot.
"It's E, and something tells me you haven't done this either." I smirk and open up wide and think about OD's and hospital visits and mothers burying both husband and son in a three month period and wow, she'll get so much sympathy and flowers this year, but no one to buy Christmas presents for when the time rolls around. I had never done anything other than pot before this and I wish I could get my mouth to work so I can tell him that, even though more than likely he wouldn't give a fuck right now. But God, I just need to get it out, just tell him.
"You're so fucking easy." Feel fingernails make long scrapes over a sharp hipbone. You're not eating enough to keep a fucking bird alive, Sunshine ... come on, sweetie ... aren't you hungry, Justin? Aren't you fucking starving, kid? Aren't you? Yes! Yes! Fuck Yes! I scream at the voices inside my head, a silent scream, deafening scream that takes over my ears and makes them bleed. I'm fucking starving! But it doesn't matter now, can't matter when he takes an angry bite out of my shoulder and shit, that's going to be sore tomorrow and probably the next day and what if it never heals and it's their forever? Just like a tattoo. Just like the memories that can't, won't be washed away.
"So fucking green, so fucking hungry ... like it rough? Don't ya?" I'm nodding and my feet are doing a kind of shuffle deciding whether to move closer or further away and they won't be still. I open my eyes, didn't even know that they were closed and see him, sweating, shirt gone and pants half unbuttoned. I move my hand to his dick, wrap fingers around the length and squeeze, watch the way he groans and turns us so that he can take up the wall. I don't even lick my lips as I get to my knees. Touch me ... like this ... my mind doesn't sink away or recoil into itself. I watch his dick unfurl from his pants, no underwear and I love the hedonism already. I knead a steady hand over flesh made for pleasure and maybe Jack didn't know shit after all, close my eyes and think that it was never meant for such misuse and abuse, never to be hidden and destroyed like that. Stumble for a second and see a work worn hand over my eyes as I take him, all of him, and smile around him when I show that deep throating is not just an urban myth in all those porn movies he jerks off to. I never open my eyes. Just suck, suck, suck and lick and tease and nibble just a little bit because my shoulder is still radiating pain and God it's throbbing just like his dick. His moans and groans and tiny, little whimpers fall on me, make me slip down just a little bit further. He's so close to coming and yeah, I could too just from sucking him off and thinking about my own dick. When he does come, his hands are wrapped around my head, slamming me to him, and I don't choke, not at all. Feel lifted up, and light as air and his eyes are surprised when mine finally open, like I was some punk kid that never sucked dick before, didn't even know how to make him have an orgasm or which way to make my tongue drive him insane.
God, now I don't know, but the walls are starting to scream at me. Starting to growl at me, yelling for me to come closer and threatening to swallow me whole, hard dick and all. I feel another set of hands on me and jump because I'm sure it's the wall's hands coming after me. I hear Jared laugh against my throat, his hands are scratching; teeth are tearing and now there are two other men around us, joining in. A black and red head biting and licking at us both and where did my shirt go? Yeah it's old but I wore it the first time Brian ever took me to Liberty Diner and Brian's in my head now, all gold and tanned and smiling and so fucking beautiful that he makes me come with the help of the mouth on my dick. I lean on the guy behind me with his hand down my pants, playing with the parts of me that normally couldn't stand to be touched. He's licking my neck when I feel a finger go into me, places so private and this so public and God it's so fucking hot in here like the air itself is wet and soaking me instead of sweat. He pushes in and out and a mouth still on my dick and yeah, mmm, that feels really good, really fucking great and now the walls have stopped screaming and I didn't even realize at first. When I open my eyes the devil from earlier winks at me and I actually smile at the bastard.
Jared's on me again, and the man downstairs is biting and licking and sucking and marking me and doesn't he know that I live with a woman that can level you all with a stare and a smack of gum? And what the hell is she going to do to me when she finds out I went to Babylon, met strangers and took their candy and still blew them? She's gonna fucking kill me, that's what she's going to do. Jared laughs, like he can hear me and is not high at all, bites my ear as I watch a small animal scurry across the floor and yeah, I'm really fucked up because I'm thinking that's a small pink beaver, but my mouth is full of tongue and teeth and lips so I can't ask them to go tell the manager and maybe animal control can make a special trip because this can't possibly even be beaver season and if someone is using that for sex, well that's just weird.
My pants are lowered and cool air and a hand hit my ass, and I tense, just for a second, just for a moment before I succumb to the possibility that I'm about to get fucked by a total stranger. I tense, too terrified and I stop thinking and just rush forward, just want to get it done with, something new that will burn me clean and I can't even start that when there's someone pulling my arm hard and rough enough that it's either going to be broke or bruised tomorrow.
"What the hell are you fucking doing?" I wonder if he can yell louder or put anymore expletives in that sentence...fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck...and that's funny and I laugh. I look up and surprise, surprise it's Brian "Fucking" Kinney with his angry face on and out of the corner of my eye the beaver is starting to bite out the wall.
"What the hell? Who the fuck are you? He's here with me, man." Jared's angry at having his toy, me, taken away and reaches for my waist, fingers digging in harder than they have to and ow.
"You-" He pushes Jared away and I think it's kind of rude to be treating my new friend like that but words are all Latin to me now, and if I open my mouth to speak it's going to be in French because I can't remember any English. But I'm talking English in my head and yeah, I'm confused and why is Brian here?
"Don't fucking touch him ever again." He gives Jared the anger ball look and he kinds of huffs before heading deeper into the Lion's den with the other two boys, I raise my hand to wave but he doesn't look behind him, not once.
"And you ... fucking...” He's kind of that mad that he can't talk and I think it's funny. Cute. I start laughing and laughing and then sort of rubbing myself all over him because I'm hard and he's so fucking alive and beautiful and right here and smells so fucking good. He's shocked and let's me do it, let's me push him to the wall and rub his dick through soft jeans that are molded to his body. I can't get enough of him, of his smell and his taste and everything about him and how we aren't even related and fuck he just ... is everything.
"Justin ... Justin ...” He murmurs, hands coming up to skim across my back and my sides and my arms and his hands are all soft and loving and I just stop and let him touch me and feel a tear slide down my face. I feel dirty and grimy and finally taste the bad inside of my mouth, feel like throwing up and dying all at the same time, and the wall behind Brian starts to shift and swirl so I step back, back, back pulling him with me. His hand comes up, wiping the moisture off my face, kissing my cheek so soft that maybe I did OD and none of this real and this is the limbo that everyone complains about before going to hell because I feel like I can't do anything to get me to the place that I want to be. I move my head, shift it ever so slyly so that our lips touch, for a second, a minute, eternity ... never long enough. His tongue comes out, slowly, unsure as if he's ever been unsure of anything in his life and swipes across my bottom lip. He moves his head back, hands moving down to put my pants back on me.
"Come on...” His voice, soft and quiet makes another tear want to slip down.